


this glistening hour

by srawratskcuf (Doreen)



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Paterson (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Androids, Ashterson, Discussion of Death and Mortality, Domestic, Getting Together, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Pining, Roommates, Schmoopy Existentialism, Sharing a Bed, Tender Sex, Wet Dream, kylux adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 18:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doreen/pseuds/srawratskcuf
Summary: But the little leaves that dieHave left me room to see the sky;Now for the first time I knowStars above and earth below.Paterson saves Ash, or maybe it's the other way around.





	this glistening hour

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Romance + Growing Old With You. 
> 
> 1\. Full consent is given by both characters, though since Ash is an android some people might question his ability to consent. I wrote the story from his perspective to try to alleviate that, but if you're not into android sex and android romance, this is not the fic for you!  
> 2\. Time period? What's that? I didn't think too hard about it while I was writing it, and you probably shouldn't either.  
> 3\. CW for mention of terminal cancer and death discussion. No MCD. They don't even grow old together in this fic. They just think about what it'd be like (and then they fuck).

Ash jolts awake. There's a man standing in front of him, broad as anything, dark hair, full pouty lips, glasses perched low on his nose.

"Hello?" says the man. He sounds like he's answering a phone call.

"Hello," Ash says. "I'm Ash."

The man's name is Paterson, and he's hovering over Ash's supine form. Ash can't move any of his limbs and seems to have lost all connection with his motor function. His voice is coming through loud and clear, but even his mouth doesn't move along with the words. A patch of skin from Ash's torso has been pulled away and Paterson is pressing a tiny soldering iron into him.

According to the man, he'd found Ash at a flea market with the bathtub. He'd wanted to use it to bathe his dog. Apparently, he likes to go to flea markets and junk sales around town when he has the time, just to people-watch.

At first, he'd thought Ash was the eccentric vendor of the stall, sitting completely stationary in the tub with his back turned, until the actual vendor had approached him and informed him of Ash's android status. 'He's probably fixable, I just don't care to have him attached to me for life,' the vendor had told Paterson. Curiosity had overcome him and he purchased the bathtub and Ash for a measly $25, along with a few accessories that the vendor had assured him would be able to do the necessary repairs. Paterson knows nothing of Martha Starmer or even how Ash had gotten to America. The last thing Ash remembers is the attic and Martha ordering him to go to sleep and never wake up.

"I think I've almost got you fixed," Paterson says. He's been glancing down at a book, _Android Repair for Dummies_ , brow furrowing in concentration. "Hang on… there… how's that?"

Ash's entire body jerks and Paterson inches away from him, takes his reading glasses off. Ash blinks.

"That seems better. How do you feel?"

"Awake. Maybe a little stiff." He feels his mouth moving as he says it. He twitches his fingers first, then his legs, then his arms, and presses himself up off the ground to sit cross-legged in front of Paterson, who is kneeling and looking at him with an awestruck expression.

"I've never been this close to an android before, much less repaired one. Scared I might hurt you. Kind of surprised it worked. It says here in the book," he gestured towards the page, "now that your motor function is restored, you should be able to self-repair your software. But if you need help, I can give it a try."

"Now what?" Ash says.

"Do you sleep? You can use my pull-out couch. And we can go shopping tomorrow for some clothes. I know you don't sweat, but it's nice to have options, right?"

"Sleep isn't really a necessary function. Besides, I've been asleep for the better part of a century. I'd like to see your world, if you don't mind."

 

&&&

 

As it turns out, Paterson's world is comfortably small. Ash rides all day with him on his bus route, sitting in the very back and watching people come and go. He's beginning to understand the appeal of observing others and feels grateful that Paterson let him out of the house so soon after reactivating him. Paterson had kindly avoided the subject of Ash's attachment, giving him the choice to follow Paterson to work or "do his own thing"—in other words, sit in the house all day with only the dog, Marvin, for company. He could do his repairs just as easily sitting on the bus as sitting on a couch, and he couldn't deny himself the opportunity to learn more about Paterson. How could this man with no knowledge of androids work so hard to save him? What was he hoping to gain?

In the row in front of him, a girl is sitting in a boy's lap, his hand reaching around to clutch her breast in an open display of teenage lust. Well, that's certainly something that Paterson could be hoping to gain from him. Ash, much to his own chagrin, is not opposed to the idea, even after knowing him for only a short time. His gratitude at being restored is enormous, engulfing his entire consciousness, and just beneath it is a yearning for a new purpose. When he came into existence, his purpose was to please Martha, in all senses of the word, and to ease her pain. With Martha long gone, he needs a new objective. Paterson does not seem to be in any pain, emotional or physical, so perhaps pleasure is all he wants from Ash.

When Paterson's shift ends, they take another bus to a shopping center. Ash presses their knees together, turning to give a hopeful smile at Paterson, but he shifts away.

"Sorry, didn't mean to crowd you, they really didn't design these seats for tall people," he says as he shifts his knees towards the aisle. "We'll be there soon, don't worry."

At the store, Paterson sits on the bench by the self check-out and lets Ash pick out what he wants. He chooses some basic shirts and pants, nothing too tight or flashy. He throws in packs of white undershirts, socks, and briefs, and pushes the cart towards Paterson.

"Hope it's not too much," he frets as Paterson scans each item. "You didn't give me a budget, so I just chose what I thought was reasonable."

"Don't worry, I have enough money. I want you to be comfortable. And to blend in. Those clothes you have on now could have been my grandfather's."

 

&&&

 

Paterson sets a plate of spaghetti in front of Ash and sits across the table from him. It's a nice gesture. After his initial repair, Paterson has avoided talking about Ash's android status at all, as if it's some taboo. Maybe it is. Ash has connected himself to the internet as best he can, but he knows as well as anyone that the internet doesn't tell the whole story.

Ash tells Paterson about his life from before while taking miniscule bites of the pasta. Paterson nods along as he chews, intently listening but not interrupting. When Ash runs out of things to say about Martha and the baby, he decides to broach the topic.

"What the man at the flea market said is true about attachment. I can't go very far from you, or the bathtub, or my systems will shut down. It was the same with Martha. I should be fine in the house and yard, but I can't leave here without you."

Paterson's eyes widen a bit in understanding. Maybe now that he realizes having Ash sacrifices too much alone time, which he seems to value, and he'll shut him down again. The bathtub was a big enough commitment for him to haul home, and it now sits on the back porch, pressed against the side of the house. Ash still has no idea what Paterson wants from him and unknown motives are frightening. He hopes Paterson would tell him now if he didn't want Ash after all before he's gotten too used to being awake. It's only been a day. But surely he wouldn't have bought clothes for Ash, just to have him sleep in another attic for another century? But maybe—

"That's fine." Paterson says. "Fine with me. Unless you want to leave and go somewhere?" He rubs at the back of his neck. "I'm not sure how I would make an advanced change like that on your programming, but I can try if you want—"

"No, I'm happy here," Ash tells him, and he means it. "As long as you don't mind me staying, I can take care of myself. And I appreciate the dinner, but you don't need to worry about feeding me. Actually, I can cook for you, if you'd like."

"Sure. Never had a roommate who could cook before." He smiles.

After dinner, Paterson sits down to read, while Ash sits on the other side of the couch, processing his repairs and updates. He keeps his eyes closed out of courtesy to Paterson; an unblinking stare can be a jarring reminder of his otherness. Within a few days he should be running at full functionality, although there are some things that might require a bit of extra help from Paterson.

After a couple hours, Ash reaches a stopping point in his repairs to ask Paterson a burning question.

"Are there others around? Androids, I mean. I didn't seem to notice any on the bus today."

Paterson hesitates before responding. "Uh. Yeah. Androids are usually not going to be riding the bus, though. A lot of wealthy people take their androids around with them as personal assistants, managers, servants... It's kind of a status thing. But. I really don't want you to feel obligated towards me. Like I said before, we can be roommates. If you want to cook for me, you can, but it's not like I don't enjoy cooking for myself."

"All right," Ash nods, "So, you repaired me for status, and to be your roommate." He doesn't think he's said anything bad, but Paterson seems to disagree as he quickly starts shaking his head.

"No, no, I just. I couldn't leave you there. Some androids live a lavish lifestyle, but sometimes people use them for… a lot of bad things. Especially an older model. Uh, no offense. I couldn't let that happen. I'm not going to… parade you around for status or anything like that. I just thought you deserved something better. I want you to have the life you want. And I've been thinking a roommate might be a good idea anyway. So."

"All right," Ash agrees, "Roommates."

 

&&&

 

That night, while Paterson is in the shower, Ash stands questioningly in the doorway of Paterson's bedroom. Or is it supposed to be Ash's bedroom too now, since they're roommates? Likely, since it's right there in the name.

The previous night, he had sat on the couch, taking in his new surroundings and performing maintenance. Now, he steps over the threshold, crosses to the closet, and begins hanging the clothes Paterson had bought him. There's just barely enough room in the tiny closet to fit it all in, next to Paterson's work uniforms and a few casual shirts, mostly plaid.

Ash changes into fresh underclothes and socks, dropping his old clothes into the closet's hamper. This feels familiar to him, the way it used to be with Martha. As the fabric slips over his skin, he realizes it's awfully clean for having been asleep for so long.

"Thank you for washing me before," he tells Paterson as he comes in from the bathroom. Ash sits perched at the foot of the bed. "Which side is yours?"

Paterson blushes bright red, though Ash isn't sure what he has to be embarrassed about. His bare chest is gorgeously speckled with moles, his hair looks soft and fluffy from where he's mussed it dry with his towel, which is now slung low on his hips. All in all, an amazing specimen of virility.

"Oh. Uh. No problem. You didn't want to sleep in the living room?"

"No, unless you'd prefer that? I don't need to sleep every night anyway, although it is better for my system." Paterson's turned away from him to get dressed, so Ash can't see his expression to discern how he might feel. His voice didn't give much away.

"No. You can stay here. I'd… really like that." He turns around. "But be warned, I toss and turn a lot. The side doesn't matter."

Ash crawls under the covers on the right side of the bed. "I won't mind. Sleep for me isn't quite the same as it is for you."

Paterson turns the lights off and gets in bed, taking obvious care not to go too far towards Ash's side of the bed. He can't see Ash in the dark, but Ash can see him perfectly clearly, looking stiff as a board in what is clearly an unnatural sleep position for him.

"You can come closer, I don't mind. You seem uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay, I'll just…" Paterson rolls over onto his side, giving Ash his back. "Goodnight, Ash."

 

&&&

 

By morning, Ash is completely engulfed in Paterson's solid arms. It's very cozy. After the initial tossing and turning, Paterson eventually fell into a deep sleep, nestling himself closer and closer to Ash until he intertwined their limbs in a messy tangle. Ash had tried to sleep too, ultimately failing completely. It seemed that after nearly a hundred years of sleep, his body was unwilling to endure any more when it was unneeded. But with his eyes shut, he would still look just as asleep to Paterson. He didn't want to give him any cause for concern.

"Mmm," Paterson hums into Ash's hair. It's early, well before sunrise, and Marvin is snoring loudly on the floor next to them. He nuzzles his face into Ash's hair, gripping him tighter, and Ash hugs him tighter in return. This is the pure closeness that Ash has craved since his creation, that he was never quite able to have with Martha, who found him too uncanny.

Paterson blinks awake, then realizing his position, he abruptly twists away.

"Paterson," Ash whispers into the still-dark room. Paterson hasn't reached to turn on the lamp yet. "Is it time to get up?"

"Umm. Not yet. Sorry. About all that. Been awhile since I shared the bed." Part of his shoulder is still barely brushing Ash, and he shifts it completely away so they're not touching at all.

"It's all right; it felt good. Human contact is one of my basic needs."

"So... you're programmed to want to be touched?"

"Are you?" Ash asks sharply with a scowl, even though Paterson can't see it. Paterson doesn't answer aloud, but he does wrap one arm around Ash as he closes his eyes for a few extra minutes of sleep, his chin resting on Ash's shoulder in response.

 

&&&

 

Over the next few weeks, Ash becomes accustomed to Paterson's routine and starts weaving himself into it. Marvin has grown used to Ash, even if he's not very fond of him, and while Paterson is at work, Ash sits on the couch and reads Paterson's books, sometimes goes online to catch up on history, pop culture, and to watch cooking videos. He takes Marvin out on a leash and walks him around the yard from time to time, the dog detesting every second of it.

Ash had tried to go on the bus a couple more times, but after a disastrous incident when Paterson had to leave the bus to go to the bathroom in the bus station and his system had shut down with a straggling passenger still on board, they had both decided it wasn't a good idea. Anything could come up to pull Paterson away, leaving Ash vulnerable and exposed, and besides, Ash wasn't supposed to be riding the bus for free all day anyway.

In the evenings, Ash watches Paterson eat. If Paterson is the one who cooked, Ash will eat a little of it, to get an idea of what kinds of foods Paterson enjoys. It's a lot of pasta, sandwiches, and the occasional stack of pancakes. According to one food blog, a person's casual cooking says a lot about their own tastes, and Ash wants to know everything there is to know about Paterson.

They've taken to sitting on the couch together, with Ash leaning against Paterson's chest, one of his arms sometimes wrapping around Ash's waist. Ever since the first night of sharing the bed, Paterson has welcomed Ash's gentle touches, silently acknowledging both their desires for simple contact.

"What are you reading?" Ash looks down at the well-loved book in Paterson's hands, scrawled notes in the margins. It reminds him of himself—some parts written permanently, but slowly becoming Paterson's with each read, with each passing day.

 

 

> How many million Aprils came  
>    Before I ever knew  
>  How white a cherry bough could be,  
>    A bed of squills, how blue.
> 
> And many a dancing April  
>    When life is done with me,  
>  Will lift the blue flame of the flower  
>    And the white flame of the tree.
> 
> Oh, burn me with your beauty, then,  
>    Oh, hurt me, tree and flower,  
>  Lest in the end death try to take  
>    Even this glistening hour.
> 
> O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees,  
>    O sunlit white and blue,  
>  Wound me, that I through endless sleep  
>    May bear the scar of you.

 

"Sara Teasdale," Paterson replies to his long-forgotten question. Next to each line of the poem there's a tiny dot where Paterson's pen had paused while reading; there's a circle around 'flower' with an arrow pointing to 'squills' and some notes in a cramped handwriting.

"She's happy to be alive, but she knows life is transitory," Ash remarks. "And her lifetime is miniscule, compared to the universe." He thinks about how fleeting this moment in time is; how ephemeral they all are. It's something all humans try to ignore, and the entire concept he was trained to help them deal with.

"Yeah," Paterson says, "she wants to become part of it, in a way. To have it become a part of her, too."

Ash hums in consideration, and Paterson turns the page.

 

&&&

 

Paterson often gets hard during the night. Less often, he rubs himself against Ash, sometimes more vigorously than others.

The first time, it's nearly 2AM on a Thursday night. Ash is in the middle of watching a documentary about lizards of South America when he feels something pressing against his thigh. Paterson's hips roll into it, deep in sleep, just seeking pleasure. It really shouldn't take him by surprise; it's an involuntary bodily function. So what if Paterson's having a particularly pleasant dream? So what if he moans barely-audible into Ash's ear? They have been sleeping curled up together nearly every night; it was bound to occur sooner or later. Ash lies perfectly still, as only an android can, and waits for Paterson's erection to go away, for his hips to stop thrusting.

Except it doesn't stop, not for a while at least. Ash doesn't move, doesn't go back to watching the lizards, doesn't do anything but listen to Paterson's breath, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest where it's flush against Ash's. If Ash could—if Paterson would let him, would want him—he'd kiss across that chest, every mole, up his neck, his jaw, until he reached Paterson's mouth. Paterson has never given any indication that he wants that; he's never made a move on Ash, but at the same time, he hasn't rejected Ash either, even as they've become increasingly intimate: a hand on the back of his neck, fingers through his hair. Nothing overtly sexual like _this_ , though.

Eventually, Paterson's erection goes away with Ash lying there like a particularly lifelike statue. Some people might not see him as much more than that, anyway. Ash shudders at the thought, and sends silent thanks towards Paterson for accepting him completely, respecting him completely. Paterson could have bought Ash from the flea market and then mercy-killed him to save him from being exploited. From his deep-sleep mode, he wouldn't have felt a thing.

Paterson didn't need to bring him back to life, give him a home, read him poetry, cook for him, touch him softly and innocently at every chance he got. But he'd wanted to. And Ash can't help but to love him for it. He's in love with Paterson, he realizes—and it's completely his own doing, not like his love for Martha which was part of his duty towards her. He wants to be as close to Paterson as possible, and thinking of sex with him sends a thrill through Ash's core.

Despite his desires, he makes no mention of it to Paterson the next morning, not wanting to embarrass him, and resolves to remain still if and when it happens again.

It does keep happening. Maybe three times a week, Ash will be distracted during the night from whatever media he's consuming by the feeling of Paterson rubbing up against him, sometimes tightening his grip on Ash's waist while he does it to get the angle just right. If Ash weren't able to hear his breath and heartbeat remaining at the slow, steady pace of sleep, he would say that it was intentional.

Ash still hasn't been able to sleep at all. It's the only significant problem he hasn't been able to repair for himself. It's not a huge issue for now, but eventually Ash will need to do routine deep-system maintenance and he can't do that without sleep mode. He's lying awake, contemplating whether to ask Paterson for help with more repairs in the morning, when he feels the man himself shift behind him.

At this point, Ash is completely aware of what will happen next. Paterson will press up against him, he will lay perfectly still, and wait for it to end. No matter how much Ash wants to reciprocate, he doesn't want to violate the trust Paterson has placed in him.

This time, it doesn't end. Paterson keeps rubbing himself against Ash's backside, the layers of fabric between them doing nothing to hide his urgency. Ash can feel the dampness and knows it's different this time, knows that Paterson will finish, and is likely to wake up.

His wet open mouth is pressed to the back of Ash's neck now, his thrusts more erratic. His orgasm hits suddenly, and he instinctively pulls Ash closer with a groan. He's starting to wake up, and Ash is starting to panic just slightly, unable to see any course of action that doesn't end in humiliation. If he alerts Paterson that he's been awake, Paterson is sure to feel embarrassed, but if he pretends to be asleep, only to later confess that his sleep function isn't working at all, Paterson will feel deceived and still embarrassed all the same.

Ash decides to go for the immediate but nonverbal option of rolling over to face him. He places a hand on his chest where he can feel his heart beating rapidly. Paterson blinks awake with a gasp.

"Shit," is the first quiet sound out of his mouth, realizing he's wet and sticky in his sleep pants. Then he freezes, feeling Ash's hand. "Ash?"

"Yes?"

"Fuck. I'm really sorry," Paterson shifts to the edge of the bed to flick the lamp on.

"It's okay," Ash reassures him. "Don't worry. It didn't bother me."

"You were sleeping?" Paterson is standing now, tugging at the corner of the bedsheet. Ash follows his lead, helping remove the wet sheet. Even in the dim golden lamplight, the stain on Paterson's crotch is obvious. Ash does his best not to look.

"Well, not exactly, but it's okay. I didn't mind."

"Oh," is all Paterson has to say in surprised response.

Ash continues as Paterson walks over to the dresser to pull out new sheets, "You don't need to feel ashamed around me. I'm not judging you. The human body works in mysterious ways."

Paterson laughs dryly at that. It's the kind of thing Ash could never have said to Martha, indirectly referencing his android status and breaking his character, but with Paterson, there's no need to pretend. He doesn't have to try to live up to an impossible standard of a dead man anymore. He tucks the clean sheet under the corner of the mattress, runs his hand over the top for good measure.

"Okay," Paterson sounds reassured, though he still turns to face the closet as he pulls his pants down to change into clean ones. His ass is round, tight, sculpted: everything Ash had expected it to be. There's a tiny mole on the upper left cheek. Ash wants to suck on it, just to see how Paterson would react.

Instead, he slides back into bed between the nice clean sheets and scoots a little towards the center, lying flat on his back with his hands clasped to his chest. When Paterson gets in next to him in the dark, Ash turns so they're face to face.

He wraps his arms around Paterson and they hold each other, Paterson's breath slowing down, his body beginning to relax again. After a while, Ash presses the softest of kisses against the side of Paterson's throat.

"Is this okay?" he asks, but Paterson is already back asleep.

 

&&&

 

The next day, Paterson doesn't have work, but he still gets up at his usual time. Ash joins him in the kitchen as Paterson feeds Marvin and cooks breakfast. Ash has told him that he doesn't need to eat, but he still sets a plate in front of him every time, in case Ash wants to try it, and sometimes he does. Today it's cream of wheat. He swallows a spoonful before breaking the silence.

"What are your plans for the day?"

"Don't have any, really. Uh, did you want to do something? We could take the train to the city."

"While that does sound exciting, I wanted to ask for your help with a maintenance issue. Specifically, I'm not able to fall asleep."

"What? How long have you been like this?"

"I haven't slept since you reactivated me."

"Two months? Oh my god," Paterson sets down his spoon with a clatter. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't be alarmed. I didn't want to trouble you; it hasn't been urgent."

"Hasn't been?"

"Well," Ash begins, "After last night, I think you might benefit from the privacy of me being in full sleep mode. Also, there are some self-repairs that I can only do while sleeping. Again, nothing urgent. I just thought it was worth mentioning."

Paterson's cheeks have reddened slightly at the mention of the previous night, but Ash continues, "I've been reading some articles online, repair manuals and the like. I think it should be a fairly easy fix with the same tools you used before."

"Okay," Paterson says as he moves to clear their plates. Marvin follows him, nonexistent tail wagging hopefully for a tiny taste.

Ash takes his undershirt off and lies face-down on the sofa. Paterson puts his reading glasses on and goes to the closet, pulls out the toolkit and several repair manuals that Ash hasn't seen before. Even though he hasn't needed to do any further maintenance for Ash until now, it seems as if he's been preparing for all eventualities.

"The access should be on my upper back," he directs Paterson. "Sleep is part of my basic function, which is all stored in my dorsal processor."

Paterson gets to work, folding the skin away from the panel to access it with his tools. Ash keeps his face pressed straight down into the couch, stares at the pattern of its fabric, and counts the number of tiny threads that are weaving it together. It's incredibly boring, but Paterson tells him (reading from one of his books) that counting is a good tactic to not overload his system while undergoing hardware repair.

"You don't need to worry about bothering me with this kind of stuff. You don't need to hide it," Paterson pauses working after about an hour. Ash turns his head to the side to face him.

"I told you as soon as it was necessary," Ash huffs.

"I really mean it, Ash. I want to take care of you. I've been trying to learn how to do it better, in case something happens. Promise me you'll tell me sooner if you need help again. I want to help you. And I'll remember to check in about it too."

He stares into Paterson's dark eyes and sees nothing but warmth and care. Ash had been one of the first of his kind to be self-repairing, and to have Paterson working on him makes him feel vulnerable, not to mention his pride, but he can see that Paterson wants to do right by him, to give him the best. He smiles and reaches out to stroke Paterson's cheek.

"All right, Paterson. All right."

Ash puts himself to sleep easily that night. Paterson's warm embrace certainly makes it that much easier.

 

&&&

 

When it gets warmer out, they give Marvin a bath in the tub on the porch.

"Now that he's older, it's just easier to put him in the tub," explains Paterson. "But he always ends up making a big mess inside."

The hose flops over the edge of the tub letting out a slow trickle of water. Paterson hoists Marvin up with only a little flail of his paws, and then a splash as he breaks the surface of the water. The cold must be a bit of a shock to him; he starts to scramble a little against the smooth sides of the tub, claws clicking on the enamel.

"Shh, shh, it's okay Marvin, good boy, I've got you," Paterson murmurs. Ash passes him the wash rag and shampoo.

"How old are you, Marvin?" Ash asks the dog, stroking his head while Paterson soaps up his torso. Ash has been trying to get better at interacting with him; Paterson talks to him a lot and feeds him food from the table here and there. Marvin seems to like Ash's cooking well enough, at least.

"He's probably about eleven. Really old for a dog like him. He was Laura's."

He's seen pictures of Laura in the house. There's one on Paterson's dresser, another on the end table by the sofa, a wedding photo on the wall, probably one in his wallet, too. Sometimes Ash watches Paterson's face contort in sorrow for a split second when he's looking at them.

Ash asked about her once, but Paterson's look of utter agony made him instantly regret it. His voice was choked as he told Ash about the ovarian cancer that had taken her life, how they'd been overjoyed thinking it was pregnancy in the beginning. She had undergone treatments, which had improved but not cured her condition, and within a year of the diagnosis, she was gone.

"Laura loved animals. Marvin was a rescue. She loved people too. Everyone she met… she made their lives better. Even just for a second, and they all loved her. God, I loved her. I miss her."

After several silent moments of Paterson washing Marvin, he continues, "She was Marvin's hero. When he's sitting by the door… that's him waiting for her to come home. But for a long time after, we just had each other, isn't that right, boy?" He pats Marvin on the back. "And then Ash came along," Paterson looks up then and gazes into Ash's eyes with a shy, tight-lipped smile.

Ash has all sorts of programming to help mitigate grief, but none to help him navigate the subtle affection that Paterson is always eager to give him. All he can think to do is place his hand on top of Paterson's, soap suds collecting between their fingers, and give it a gentle squeeze.

"I think at some point in a marriage, you wonder who will die first. And it hurts to even think about it at all. But when you're young, like we were, you feel like it's a long way away that you'll have to worry about it. Barring any accidents, of course. Then the diagnosis, and knowing it was going to be Laura to die first, all I could think was why couldn't it be me?"

He's turned his hand palm-up to hold Ash's, his eyes lined with unshed tears, and Ash can feel how truly devastated he had been to lose her. 

"I always thought it would be me," he continues. "Both of my parents had cancer. Dad died of it young, my mom beat it once but it killed her the second time around. I grew up with both of them smoking, and I used to smoke too. But Laura was in perfect health… Plus, women tend to live longer anyway. I compared our odds. I never thought I'd have to face losing her. Feeling like I'd die first, and I was the lucky one for it. So when it happened I didn't know how to handle it."

"I don't think fearing death can ever help you prepare for it. Still, it must have been a huge shock." Ash grasps his hand tighter. It pains him to see Paterson hurting, but he knows that talking about Laura makes him feel good too, on a certain level—remembering her and passing the memory on.

Paterson nods and gulps, now lost for words. A tear slides down his cheek, and after a long moment of still squeezing Ash's hand, he drops his attention back to Marvin in the tub.

Ash thinks idly about the death of human Ash, for the first time in quite a while. Shocking deaths are basically his _raison d'être_.

They finish rinsing Marvin off. The water in the bottom of the tub is now grey and quite unappealing. Marvin shakes himself dry, splashing the both of them, and Paterson hoists him out of the tub while Ash pulls the drain.

As they walk back to the door, Ash says, "I know Laura was very important to you." He places his mostly-dry hand on Paterson's back, to soothe away the mention of her.

"She was. Always will be." Paterson opens the door. He pauses, "and so are you."

As Ash seasons the chicken for their dinner, he can't deny the feeling of ecstasy flowing through him. He knows that Paterson cares for him, but hearing it in words, in his own sweet-but-concise way, means the world to him. He glances over to where Paterson is chopping vegetables, and knows he'll never need anything more than this.

 

&&&

 

"I found another grey hair this morning," Paterson tells Ash casually as he's eating a breakfast of toast and jam. He sets down the section of the paper he's been reading: the obituaries.

"Oh?"

"And… I've been wondering… Ash, do you age?"

"Not externally. That is to say, I will always look like a thirty-two year old man, because that's how old _he_ was when he died, and I wasn't meant to be Martha Starmer's companion for life. I was only there to help her through the grieving period, after which I would be reprogrammed and repurposed to help another person grieve—that was the plan, at least."

"But internally?" Paterson's eyebrows are creased in concern.

"Internally, my system will fail one day, maybe a little at a time, maybe suddenly, and I won't be able to repair it. It's such an old system that I don't know if anyone else could do serious repairs like that for me either. I will become spare parts instead of a whole functional being. My identity and memories may stay in tact but they may not. I wasn't made to be permanent."

 _Nothing is permanent_ , he thinks to himself. _Nothing deserves to be_.

Paterson looks stricken, a preemptive grief pulling at his face. There are tears shining in his eyes. "Do you know how long you have?"

"No. I can't predict my future demise any more than you can. Lately, my diagnostics have not pulled up anything of note." He says it all very matter-of-factly, hoping to wipe that look off Paterson's face and soothe him a bit. Ash doesn't fear his own death; that would be counterproductive to his programmed purpose. At the same time, he's touched by how much Paterson has obviously grown to care about him.

"I've heard some of the newer androids have been passed down generations in families. Memories backed up, parts replaced. They're meant to last forever. Immortal. It makes them less human in a way. I didn't know if you were like that, or could be like that… "

Ash briefly imagines outliving Paterson and how bleak his existence would be. He was designed to cure other people's grief, but definitely not his own. He realizes there is a high probability that the loss of Paterson would send him into a dangerous feedback loop and overload him to the point of self-destruction.

"No," Ash tells him, and reaches over to grasp his hand. "I will likely die within your lifetime, Paterson, or very shortly after. But you shouldn't worry about me," he grips his hand tighter. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else."

 _If you'll have me_ , he doesn't add, because he's not sure he could bear it if Paterson gave him the brush-off right now. He's kind of scared that's what's happening when Paterson pushes his chair up from the table and crosses over to him quickly. Ash stands up too, not sure what to do.

But Paterson's arms are around him, and his mouth is pressing against Ash's, closed-lipped and sweet. He might be crying a little bit. Ash swipes his tongue out and tastes the raspberry jam, crumbs of toast, and then Paterson is opening beautifully for him.

"Ash," he breathes after a long kiss, their foreheads pressed together. "You… my life had become so empty before I met you. When I lost Laura, I lost myself, couldn't even write anymore, but then I met you, and you made everything good again, made me feel like I'm home and I just want to make you happy for the rest of our lives together and—Oh!"

Marvin is squeezing himself between their legs, wanting to be part of the action, his stumpy tail brushing Ash's bare calves as he runs around to the other side, trying to make space for himself. Ash laughs and Paterson starts laughing too. His cheeks look a little damp but they're creased with dimples; he's reaching down to scratch Marvin behind the ears.

"Marvin, aww, good boy, you just want to get into the mix too, don't you?" Paterson reaches over to where the leash is hanging by the door and clips it onto his collar.

"I'd better take him out and head to work... You could come with me again, if you want?"

Ash says, "It's okay. I'll see you later." Paterson hesitates for a second, a little bit nervous, then leans forward and kisses Ash's forehead. Then he's opening the door and Marvin is pulling him towards the yard. Ash leans against the door frame with a grin on his face.

 

&&&

 

On Paterson's bookshelf there's a picture of a dark-haired woman holding a pudgy baby, both grinning cheekily up at the camera. It's faded from where it's spent years in the sun, but it's not too difficult to deduce who it is. Still, Ash knows to be polite and ask anyway.

"Is that you? And your mother?"

Paterson nods, expression indecipherable. "Yeah. I was maybe a year old there. One of my favorite pictures."

"You look alike. How were you, as a baby?"

"I'm told I was a handful. Cried all night, slept all day. Later I started trying to climb everything in the house and almost brought a chest of drawers down on me. Gave my mom a big scare," he pauses, his eyes tracing over his mother where she's smiling back at him from the photograph. "What were you like?"

"It's hard to distinguish what past I should call mine," he begins. Ash's automatic response is to answer according to his programmed history, and he tells Paterson that Ash-the-human had been a quiet, rather sickly baby, who was in and out of hospital for the first few months of his life.

But as he's saying it aloud, it feels wrong, like a lie. He's never been a baby. He's never even been a young adult. He still hasn't figured out how to separate himself from the memories he was given but never lived, and doesn't know whether he can, or should; they're completely ingrained in him, as if he'd written a book about places he had never gone and things he had never done, and then reread it to himself a thousand times until he could mostly believe it. To divorce himself from it all seems impossible, because whether they're his experiences or not, they're a fundamental component of his personality. They inform the way he behaves, the way he reacts, as if they were truly his own.

Paterson has walked away from the bookshelf to sit on the sofa, one arm slung over the back, and Ash goes to sit snugly in the space next to him. Trying not to dwell on it all, he entwines his fingers with Paterson's. All the memories they've made together over the months since Paterson rescued him feel so much more substantial than the false memories transplanted from a dead man. Logically, he knows that all his memory data are stored in his system in the exact same manner, but his time with Paterson is actually _his_. Paterson is his, he is Paterson's—the home they've begun to make together is falling into place. He leans over to kiss him on the jaw, overwhelmed by this man who brought him back to life, and never once considered Ash's version of 'life' to be any less than his own.

"This is yours," Paterson says, as if he'd read Ash's mind. "I'm yours, right here, right now. As much as you want of me."

"I love you," Ash tells him, hopes he can hear the absolute truth of it. "There's no one else in the world for me." He swings his legs up to rest across Paterson's lap, kissing both his cheeks.

"Ash." Paterson breathes. "I love you too. I.. I would have told you sooner, didn't want to scare you. Should have told you this morning." He's blushing now, as Ash strokes his thumbs over his cheekbones and kisses the tip of his nose.

When their mouths meet, it's all Ash has ever wanted. This connection, this pure devotion, joy, and tenderness is his life's purpose. To love Paterson and be loved by him, this quiet, thoughtful, beautiful man who has shown him more kindness than he could ever hope for, whose gratitude for Ash never ceases, as if Ash is the one who saved him, fixed him. He pushes his tongue against Paterson's, lighting up all his pleasure sensors. It's deeper than their first kiss in the kitchen; it's an answer, not a question. Paterson's huge hands are stroking under his shirt, down the small of his back, over his ass, and back up. He can feel Paterson's hard length pressing against his crotch and he wills his own to match it, creating a delicious friction between them as he pushes his hips to meet Paterson's.

When Paterson feels it, he breaks the kiss. "You're hard," he says in surprise. "I didn't know you could—"  

"Didn't know I was attracted to you?" Ash smirks at him, although he knows what Paterson was really wondering. He kisses him again for good measure. "You're everything to me. I want to be everything for you. Let me give you what you need." He rolls his hips again to punctuate it, "Please, Paterson, I want you so much."

As Ash leads Paterson to the bedroom, their fingers linked together, Ash can't help but think how bizarre it is that seeing an old baby picture is what finally led them to this—but then again, most people consider Ash's entire existence in this century to be bizarre: a failed early android meant to help the grieving but now serving no purpose but to occupy attics, junkyards, or to be cruelly exploited.

He falls back on the bed, Paterson climbing on top of him. Ash presses his leg in between Paterson's and he rolls his hips against it. Ash's hands are already at his fly.

"Can I?" Paterson nods his approval, pulling his shirt off while Ash pulls his pants down. Paterson has to step back for a second to kick his pants off, and his eyes roam over Ash's body.

"Want to see all of you, Ash. I've dreamed about it. Will you show me?" He rubs at the hem of Ash's shirt questioningly, and Ash obliges him, eager to let Paterson touch him all over. He leans forward to catch Paterson's mouth with his own as one of Paterson's hands slips down the back of his pants to caress the soft skin there, and he moans against his lips.

When Ash is fully naked, Paterson begins kissing down his body, starting at his forehead. He kisses each of Ash's cheeks like he's something pure and innocent, then kisses his mouth like he's anything but. He sucks on Ash's collarbones—it won't leave a mark, but the overstimulation of the tiny patch of skin sets all of Ash's sensors alight. He strokes a hand through Paterson's hair and down his neck.

When he reaches Ash's navel and slurps in, Ash laughs, surprising himself with the sound of it.

"Wow, that's—that tickles. I've never been tickled before."

Paterson recognizes the challenge and smirks before licking into his navel again, and Ash squeals with delight—a sound he's never made before—legs bending off to the sides, overwhelmed by the slickness of Paterson's tongue over the furled skin, sucking on a part of him he never knew was sensitive. Ash may be the one giggling uncontrollably, but he's never seen Paterson look more gleeful and accomplished for the reaction he's eliciting from Ash.

"Paterson, please," he whines when Paterson moves to kiss the jut of his hip.

"How should we do this?" he pulls himself upright, his knees on the bed. His cock is thick and long, surrounded by trimmed black pubes, and the head of it is already dripping wet.

"Whatever you want. With you I want it all," Ash reaches out to rub Paterson's thigh. He can't stand not to be touching him.

"Be right back," Paterson kisses his wrist as he walks around the side of the bed. He goes into the bathroom and comes back with a bottle of lotion. Ash is sitting cross-legged on the bed, and when Paterson lies back down he sits on top of him, straddling his hips.

"Is this all right?" Paterson asks. "I mean, is it okay for your skin?"

Ash nods, "I'm not half as delicate as you think. Now put it in me, before I change my mind."

Stretching Ash open is easy. He doesn't have internal organs; the sole purpose of his hole is for this, for Paterson's two thick fingers pumping in and out of him in time with his ragged breaths in Ash's ear, for Paterson reaching the delightful spot inside him that makes his whole body writhe in ecstasy. Paterson kisses his neck and he moans.

"Ash," Paterson breathes, "will you let me inside?"

"Yes, god, please, Paterson, I need you, need you close, always, please," Ash begs.

Paterson wastes no more time; he lines his cockhead up with Ash's entrance and lets Ash press himself down until Paterson is all the way in. It's unlike anything Ash has ever felt before. He feels completely full, completely consumed by his love for Paterson. He leans forward into Paterson's embrace. Paterson cradles his head with both hands, presses their foreheads together, and kisses him, and Ash knows he feels the same.

"Fuck, you're so good, Ash. So perfect." He's thrusting in slowly but deeply, licking across Ash's lips and into his mouth while he does it, petting his hair. With every roll of Paterson's hips, his eyes flutter shut, dark lashes against pale cheeks. Ash thinks it's the most exquisite and beautiful thing he's ever seen, like something out of one of Paterson's poetry anthologies. He drops himself down to meet Paterson with each thrust. He knows that sexual pleasure is one of the many added features that he was created with, but this feels like so much more than that—no one but Paterson could make him feel so wholly adored.

Paterson's lips are slightly open, his breaths coming out rough, eyes half closed. His hands roam over Ash's back, clutching at him as though he can't bear the thought of living without him. When he stares into Ash's eyes, Ash can see so clearly how Paterson feels about him, and Ash can't resist leaning down to give him a kiss. Paterson meets him halfway, then brings himself fully up to sitting and pulling Ash into a tight hug. The new position feels even better as Paterson continues to move in and out of Ash's tight warmth.

"Yes, yes, right there, sweetheart, that's the spot, oh yes," Ash spurs him on, rubbing his hands over his biceps. "Are you close?" Paterson nods. Ash guides Paterson's hand down to his own dick. "Touch me, please. I need you."

Paterson's hand is huge and warm and fits around Ash perfectly. Ash places his hand around Paterson's and guides him through his strokes while he bounces up and down on Paterson's dick, matching his every thrust and quickening the pace. The only thing that exists in the entire world is Paterson and the places where his skin touches Ash.

Holding each other like this, their bodies connected, feeling like one: it's too much for Ash at once and he cries out, eyes closed, his pleasure totally maximized in orgasm. For that moment, he is devoid of anything besides the absolute bliss of knowing that is Paterson inside him, as close as one person can possibly be to another. It's a total shock in the best way, to feel this loved, this cherished, this desired. When he opens his eyes, Paterson is staring up at him in awe.

"I love you," Paterson groans, "I love you I love you I love you—ahh!" and Ash feels the warmth of his release inside of him as his hips slow. Paterson collapses underneath him, his hands resting limp on Ash's lower back.

"I love you too," Ash whispers. He rolls off Paterson, trembling at the sensation of emptiness. In spite of his own orgasm producing no fluid, he's a mess: there's come leaking out of him, slowly trickling down the back of one thigh, and there is sweat and spit all over him. He typically washes himself once a week, but he'll definitely have to increase the frequency from now on.

"Here, let me." Paterson has returned with a washcloth, and Ash rolls over onto his stomach so that Paterson can wipe the majority of the mess away from his hole, cheeks, and thighs. He finishes by planting a kiss on Ash's tailbone, then crawls up the bed, pulling the blankets over both of them.

Later, they'll talk about Ash's fake memories and the way he's outgrown his given identity. If he'd stayed completely true to his source material, he would never have been able to have any of this. Ash knows most people want their partners to have a past, to have ambitions for themselves, but Paterson isn't most people. Ash is some of the most modern technology in the house, and he's a century old—it's fitting that Ash should live here, where the era doesn't seem that far removed from his own, with Paterson, who wants nothing more from Ash than he is able to give.

For now, Ash scoots closer to Paterson on the bed, tucking his head under his chin and wrapping his arms around his waist. He presses a kiss to Paterson's chest as they both fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Do androids have dreams? Idk. But they definitely have kinks. Follow me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/srawratskcuf), where I'm always down to talk about Ash's navel. 
> 
> Thank you to [Marzarelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzarelo) for looking this fic over and encouraging me! <3
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated and I will do my best to reply to them all!


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